The kitchen felt warm and safe, and there she saw a teacup sitting on the counter, vapour escaping to the air, the familiar scent making her heart melts. Mmmmm.
She picked up the teacup and took a tiny sip, enough only for the whole tongue to feel its warmth. The walls looked clean, the room lit bright, and the windows were clear showing the fences he had painted blue. She watched as the orange leaves fell from its tree through the window, and she remembered how it was when she fell for him.
She loved this place. This was the inside of his heart. So warm, so safe, so guarded, but only her who lived in it. And the teacup she drank from had been her, and tea poured inside had been his feelings, his heart, his faith, him.
She held the teacup closer and felt the warm tea against her chin as she whispered to him, "Please let me stay a little longer."
---
A/n: sometimes i think of a random word, and then i create something not as good, but not as bad ☕
[11/01/17]
YOU ARE READING
Once Upon A Lone Heart | ✔
PoetryIt's you. It's always you. But it never should have been. --- [A collection of thoughts I thought were good when I first thought of them.] [12/07/18 rank - #480/528 in prose] [17/07/18 rank - #203/556 in prose]
